


the heart knows no devotion, like a shore upon the ocean

by boonki



Series: Boonki's obikin oneshots and drabbles [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern AU, Slow Dancing, Tumblr Prompt, listen its just soft, they sneak into a dance hall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29309832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonki/pseuds/boonki
Summary: It’s like something out of a movie, Anakin thinks. The hall is enormous, dauntingly tall, probably meant for a ball. There isn’t any light save for the white streaks that stream in through lofty, narrow windows, like a painter had dipped his brush in moonlight and stroked once across the canvas, but it’s enough for Anakin to make out the exquisitely patterned wood floor, the white and gold molded walls, the unlit chandeliers, the grand piano tucked neatly away in the corner. A thin layer of dust seems to cover everything, and the air is stagnant, desperate to see life waltz in again. Anakin feels as though he stepped out of reality, the hustle of the Christmas festival light years away.Stringed music starts to play behind him, audio clearly from a phone or small speaker, tin and canny in quality. He turns in confusion. “What are you-”“May I have this dance?” Obi-wan asks, a hand offered in between them, no longer gloved. He is barely visible in the low lighting, shadows enshrouding all but the curve of one cheek, the glint in one eye. Obi-wan’s phone is on the floor, volume turned as high as it will go.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Boonki's obikin oneshots and drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201706
Comments: 16
Kudos: 60
Collections: SW Especially Satisfying Stories





	the heart knows no devotion, like a shore upon the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> this was a tumblr prompt based off of “Can you let me see your eyes?” that i just took and ran with  
> sorry for all the poetry and metaphors, its 5 am and i am sleepy and full of yearning
> 
> enjoy!! comments and kudos are the highlight of my entire life <3

Snow dots Obi-wan’s eyelashes, holding perfectly still as the pair weaves their way through the crowd; the Christmas festival had just begun, gloriously donned trees and handcrafted, larger-than-life gingerbread houses carefully placed through the city like a treasure hunt for Christmas spirit. Obi-wan, a native to the city and a long time participant in the festival, drags Anakin, a new initiate and boyfriend of a few months, behind him by the hand, their fingers intertwined through thick gloves. 

“Oh, this one is by far my favorite.” Obi-wan throws the comment over his shoulder, eyes alight with elation, his whole face aglow from the warm lights meticulously strung through the trees lining the city sidewalks. Far off, Anakin can hear the faint echoes of Christmas carolers, of bells, of horns honking, and friends chattering.

A sharp tug sends him stumbling to keep up, and Anakin has just a moment to take in the building’s exterior before being thrust into a hotel more expensive than his life savings doubled. Tripled. It’s old money, marble staircases and velvet rugs, bellboys in suits and incandescent, shimmering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. 

“Are you sure we should be here?” Anakin mock whispers to Obi-wan, who is only half-listening. “I can’t afford to be here.” 

They come to a sudden halt; if Anakin hadn’t had his eyes latched onto Obi-wan's red and ruddy face, tinted from the cold, he would’ve tumbled right into him. Obi-wan pulls Anakin’s hand up to his mouth, giving it a chaste kiss through the glove. “Look.” 

In front of them, he doesn’t know how he missed it, is the largest Christmas tree Anakin has ever seen. Red ribbons cascade down the sides, a waterfall frozen in place, and lustrous silver and gold bells, ranging in size from a fist to his entire torso speckle the branches, interlaced with dozens of tiny doves and cardinals. They stand there and stare at it for a moment, in awe of its beauty, Obi-wan occasionally glancing over at him with the joy of a child written all over his face. Guests race around them, like a river finding its way around a boulder, veering off to various hallways and exits, lugging suitcases and families behind them, not paying the couple any mind. Somehow it makes the moment all the more special: how beautiful it is, to capture something so lovely in secret with someone, standing in the open, lost in your own bubble.

“Wow. A lot of balls.” Anakin teases: a facade to cover up how much he actually really likes it. 

Obi-wan gives him a side eye and a thin smile. “I know you want me to make a joke out of that, but I refuse to stoop to your level, they’re ornaments.” 

“You’d have to be taller than me to”-he holds up air quotes, dragging one of Obi-wan’s hands with him-“stoop to my level.”

Obi-wan rolls his eyes at Anakin’s smug grin. They settle back into gazing at the tree for a few moments more, studying every detail.

“You haven’t even seen my favorite part of this place,” Obi-wan says, bouncing off behind them, tugging a reluctant Anakin, yet again. They make their way across the lobby teeming with people, up a set of shallow stairs lined with plush carpet, and into a quieter part of the hotel, a midsize room with mirrored sets of doors on either side, the staircases continuing to loop up the other side of the room. It looks like a resting point of sorts, a midpoint between the lobby and the rest of the hotel. The chatter of the lobby doesn’t follow them, and Anakin is suddenly aware of how alone they are. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s…” Anakin tries to come up with a compliment, and fails. It’s just a regular room. 

Obi-wan laughs, full of mirth. “No, this isn’t it.” He lets go of Anakin and saunters up to one of the sets of doors, pulling it open like a butler, holding a hand out for Anakin to enter first. “This is.” 

Anakin draws his eyebrows together, bemused and wary. “Is this the part of the date where you murder me in a big, fancy hotel?” He walks towards the open door anyways. 

“No, but a rather good idea, I’ll save that for the future.” Obi-wan snorts, his hand falling to Anakin’s lower back as they step into the dance hall. 

It’s like something out of a movie, Anakin thinks. The hall is enormous, dauntingly tall, probably meant for a ball. There isn’t any light save for the white streaks that stream in through lofty, narrow windows, like a painter had dipped his brush in moonlight and stroked once across the canvas, but it’s enough for Anakin to make out the exquisitely patterned wood floor, the white and gold molded walls, the unlit chandeliers, the grand piano tucked neatly away in the corner. A thin layer of dust seems to cover everything, and the air is stagnant, desperate to see life waltz in again. Anakin feels as though he stepped out of reality, the hustle of the Christmas festival seems light years away. 

Stringed music starts to play behind him, audio clearly from a phone or small speaker, tin and canny in quality. He turns in confusion. “What are you-”

“May I have this dance?” Obi-wan asks, a hand offered in between them, no longer gloved. He is barely visible in the low lighting, shadows enshrouding all but the curve of one cheek, the glint in one eye. Obi-wan’s phone is on the floor, volume turned as high as it will go. 

A breath moves through Anakin, quiet and shallow, otherwise he is a statue. If he tried to speak, he thinks he’d choke around all the emotion flooding his chest, spilling down into his hands and legs, roaring up through his head and leaking out through his eyes. The music continues to float out into the space around them. 

Obi-wan coughs lightly, laugh lines falling away to reveal a layer of nervousness. The ocean inside Anakin churns. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and slips off his wool gloves, stuffing them into his back pocket and grabbing Obi-wan’s hand. The touch is like a shore to his ocean, pulling him forward, asking to be caressed, returned to, loved. 

They fall together naturally, staged for a lazy waltz, and begin to sway, like the tide creeping into the soft sand, retreating back into itself only to race ashore, finding a home in its rhythmic ritual. Anakin lets his forehead drop onto Obi-wan's shoulder, breathing him in, ignoring the lingering wetness from the snow. He thinks he’s crying. 

Obi-wan pulls back a bit, releasing his hand from the small of Anakin’s lower back to cup the dense gathering of curls just above his neck. “What’s wrong, dear?” The words are spoken into his hair with a gentle, hot breath that tickles Anakin’s ear. 

Anakin lets out a ragged breath, trying to get a hold of himself. This is more than anyone has ever done for him, more than he deserves; the whole evening had been a dream with a golden filter over it, every bit of it sewed into his heart with needle and thread, bleeding all over the place to never forget the details: an early dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant, snow bumbling down around them in the crisp winter air, a cup of shared hot cocoa from a street vendor, the crowd cheering together as the city’s tree was illuminated for the season, Obi-wan giddy to show him every single tree, every single gingerbread house. No one had ever put this much detail into a date, had ever given him this much thought, this much care and attention in a relationship. And he loved every bit of it, loved all the banter and casual touches, loved learning more about Obi-wan’s life growing up, loved-  _ oh god, he loves this man.  _

Still on Obi-wan’s shoulder, Anakin’s cheeks are hot, and the sea is still leaking from his eyelids, salty and stinging. “I love you,” he admits, whispers, confesses, knows to be true. 

Obi-wan stills beneath him. “Can you let me see your eyes, dear one?” 

Anakin leans back, just far enough to hold his face above Obi-wan’s, and looks at him, into him, through him, lets Obi-wan search his face for any sign of a lie, Obi-wan trailing the hand that had been on the back of his head to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing across Anakin’s lower lip. “I love you,” he says again, a little louder, his voice echoing into the cavernous hall. 

“You love me.” Obi-wan repeats back to him, almost a question, almost a statement. 

Anakin blinks a few times, trying to figure out if he had just massively messed things up by admitting it so carelessly, so impulsively. “Yes, I mean, it’s okay if you don’t…” he trails off, not wanting to even say it. “I mean, do you-” 

“Oh, Anakin, yes.” Even in the dark, Anakin can make out his brilliant smile, the gleam of his teeth, the twinkle in his eye. “I love you, of course I love you.”

The broad swaths of the curtains seem to open a little wider, the room a little brighter, air humming with energy, the whole room seeming to say  _ ah, love, finally.  _

Obi-wan sweeps Anakin off his feet, which is no small task given his build, and spins him in a circle, breathless with laughter, swept up in euphoria. If Anakin is the ocean, Obi-wan will drown with him. The music continues to play out of Obi-wan’s phone, but the pair pays it no mind, coming together for a giddy and messy kiss, giggling at their cold noses and lips. 

They’ll have the rest of their life to dance, anyways.


End file.
